Grannymar

Friend (F): Did you not go out tobogganing?

Me (M): LOL! I went ice skating instead. Snow is for young people, I was out for 30 mins today and an hour on 29th Dec.

(F): You won’t break any records with that!

(M): I don’t want to break anything.

(F): I Don’t blame you.

(M): I stood at the front door several times in the last week and my chest felt it was in a vice, it was not good I can tell you.

(F): Did you go out in the car today?

(M): A friend drove me. It is still very icy here.

(F): A toyboy????

(M): Not this time.

(F): Aaaw!

(M): My little neighbour has a bad chest infection and her water pipes are frozen. I took her down a large jug of water.

(F): Did you hear we’re facing water shortages here in Dublin?

(M): Nothing surprises me any more.

(F): Due to silly people running taps to stop pipes freezing plus breaks in water pipes!

(M): My sister has frozen water pipes – it is outside the house somewhere.

(F): Water pressure has been reduced around Dublin to conserve supply.

(M): Our water pressure is always reduced automatically in the winter months.

(F): We’ve lost internet connection here tonight.

(M): Remember how life was when we were young?

(F): I grew up in old house with no central heating only open fires.

(M): We have become so attached to the internet and central heating, how did we manage years ago? RTE 1 Television [only one station] - from 6pm to midnight or a radio the size of a wardrobe.  No mobile phones or computers, sitting round an open fire with our fronts scorched and our backs frozen! Shins covered in abc’s.  If you went out to get more coal, someone stole your warm seat!

(F): I remember it well. We had stone hot jars too for bedtime, jaysus, it makes me feel ancient! We had to put them in beds to stop them (beds) getting damp.

(M): Yeah, those days were awful. Frost on the inside of the windows, you got dressed to get into bed and then undressed and dressed again under the bedclothes in the morning! Oh! I remember not wanting to sit on the loo seat because it was so cold!

(F): ROFLOL!

(M): Stop laughing, it was no joke.

(F): You are telling me!  I still perch on one cheek sometimes ‘cos of the cold!

(M): I became a dab hand at sitting on my knickers.

(F): I dare you put that in a blog post.

(M): I will too! In the morning.

The moral of the story is never dare me to do something!

Do you think the birds are saving the berries for Christmas?

Now I need to chase some dust, I’ll see you at 3pm.

When I was young I had a good head of hair. I know because people always admired it. My father called it ‘my crowning glory’. It was thick, lustrous and auburn in colour. There were more natural hi-lights in it than in a New England autumn landscape. The hair colour had skipped a generation; my parents and siblings ranged from dark mousy to almost black. Mind you when the boys had an eye to fashion and grew sideburns or a beard, the hair below mid ear level appeared as Ginger! My colour came from my paternal grandmother and my maternal grandfather.

A good haircut once every five or six weeks made the job of grooming very easy. I managed it well over the years. Because of the weight I never had it longer than shoulder length. As I grew older I changed the style to a shorter look. It suited my face.

In my young working life before we had showers, I washed my hair every second day, usually in the evening and once towelled dry I put in rollers to control my curly mop. It was often still damp when I went to bed with the rollers still in place. Pride feels no pain! In those days despite the torture I managed to sleep. I wonder if I tried the rollers now, would I sleep any better. Sure it might distract me from my other aches and pains.

The rollers remind me of a family wedding. One of my brothers was getting married to a friend of mine down the country. We, the groom’s family completely booked the local hotel. We arrived the evening before the big day. I was sharing a room with my Aunt Mo. Like at most weddings, we were reunited with relations that we had not seen since the last wedding or funeral, you know how it goes.

Now when our gang get together the craic is mighty. The boys were on pints or shorts. I at that time drank Vodka. The groom had asked his best friend to be best man, but the friend was not due to leave Dublin until the morning of the wedding. Youngest brother, a groomsman, was lined up to step in if the best man was delayed for any reason. As the evening went on the stories flowed like the drink. It was a typical Irish wedding.

My Aunt had settled herself beside me and she was enjoying the fun no end. I was keeping an eye on youngest brother. If he was needed in the morning to take on the role of best man, a clear head was important. He was on the Vodka. The rounds were coming fast and furious at this stage. I began a game of chess with the glasses. As I finished a drink I set the empty glass in the centre of the table and pulled a full one closer to me. I also played a ‘sneaky’ when everyone was talking. I pulled one of my brother’s glasses my direction as well.

At one stage there were about 4 or 5 glasses of Vodka in front of me. My aunt was getting worried about me and asked where I got all the drink. “Say nothing and watch!” I whispered. Not content, she asked again. I pleaded with her to say no more. It took her some time to realise what I was at. I sank a fair amount of booze that night and it was a long evening. Being residents in the hotel the bar stayed open as long as we wanted it to. My Uncles were telling stories to beat the band and nobody wanted to break up the party.

Finally bedtime was reached and my aunt and I went to our room. She slept and so did I. When she awoke, she looked across the room to find that I was sitting up in bed, bright as a button, putting in my rollers for the hour before we were due to go down to breakfast.

“How can you do that.” she asked.

“Do what?” I said.

“Put those rollers in your hair while your head is pounding.” she said in a whisper.

“My head is not pounding.” I announced cheerfully.

“But you had all that drink last night, WHY? She questioned.

“Remember the best man was not travelling until today and little brother is on standby to step up to the plate if needed.”

“I remember.” she nodded.

“Well it was important that he should have a clear head in case he is needed” I said.

“But what about you?” she asked all concerned.

“I am not part of the wedding party and it would not matter anyway if I had a sore head. Nobody except you saw what I did last night. It was better than causing a fuss.”

My head was fine, I enjoyed a full Irish breakfast and then we prepared for the day ahead.

The best man arrived, the wedding went to plan and I was complimented on my beautiful hair all day.

The autumn glory has almost gone now and my tresses are turning to winter snow. With age I have a new problem. When I waken these days I have somehow adopted a Mohican hairstyle. Why?  I wonder. You get to see right to the scalp with the surrounding hair spread like sun rays all around it.  Brushing doesn’t fix it, I have to wash my hair before it will sit properly.

Does anyone know if our heads get heavier on the pillow as we age? Does it only happen to women?

FCB@5 (Friday Consortium Blogging at Five p.m.) is once again the order of the day.

In the past few weeks the topics were chosen by:

• Conrad - USA             ~~ Creativity
• Ashok - India             ~~ Stereotyping
• Ramana - Pune, India  ~~ Ambition

All amazing topics to work on, and approached from very different directions by each one of us, providing interesting reading from the whole group.    Hopefully Marianna is healing well and able to join in the fun very soon  If you are playing catch-up I recommend you grab a coffee, find a comfortable chair and have a read.

Today it is my turn to suggest the topic…    COMMUNICATION

Chatting on-line!

This poor quality oldie dates from 11th August 1964.  How do I know?  The date was written on the back.  The two ladies had the same first name and both surnames began with the same letter.  Both lived in Ireland, one was born in Dublin and the other in Cork.  They lived next door to each other for over 50 years.  Between them they reared eleven children.  They called on each other in times of trouble, yet there was no running in and out of each others house.

Right throughout those years despite knowing each others first names they always referred to each other as Mrs (insert name).  They talked regularly, always through the gap in the hedge.  Hanging clothes on the line drew the little woman on the right out into the garden for a bit of a chat.

Now, many years later, I realise that perhaps she was lonely during the day when her husband was at work and the children at school or at work as they grew older.  Her husband was also from Cork and they had no other relations in Dublin.  They had no telephone or car.

Her house was always spotless with the quietness of a library even when all the family were at home.  The only time you heard any sound was on a summers day like in the photo, when all the windows would be open and she sang as sweet as a bird while she worked around her house.  A very soft spoken woman, but if you listened intently she told you all the news from the neighbourhood.  When her voice became a whisper, the gossip was juicy!

The lady on the left was my mother.  Back in those days about four clothes lines criss-crossed our garden on washing day and they were all well filled with sheets, shirts, tablecloths and all the other garments that were required by a large household.  The lines were removed when the dry clothing was un-pegged and taken indoors for ironing.

I remember a time way back…. when I had to really stretch up to reach the line to either peg on or remove the clothes.  On one such day as I was struggling to remove a sheet larger than myself, I heard the familiar voice from through the hedge call my name.

“Marie, is mammy sick?” our neighbour asked.

“Yes” I replied.  “Mammy has migraine again, she has been in bed for two days”.

“I thought so” said the lady.  “The clothes were hung differently to the way your mammy hangs them” she added.

She quickly followed with “Are you managing?  Is there anything I can do to help”?

Mammy never minded standing chatting in good weather but on a winters day she liked to keep the talking as short as possible.  They never thought to call and visit each other and talk over a pot of tea, it was always through the hedge.  As we grew older, when mammy was going out to the line on a cold day she would say “Don’t leave me out there too long, call me for the phone or the oven”!  If you hover over this photo you will see the title ‘Mammy the phone is ringing’.

We are no different today.

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We still chat or talk ‘on-line’ all the time; but our ‘on-line’ is the internet enabling us to chat by using our voice, fingers or webcam, through email, IM, Twitter, Skype, Facebook or Blogging; not alone through the hedge but to folks on the other side of the globe, at any hour of the day or night no matter whether the weather is hot or cold, wet or dry, just as easily as if they were in the garden next door.

Thathaasthu - so be it.  Keep talking and have fun!

Much love
Lán grá
Bahut Pyaar Key Saath
Mit viel Liebe für Sie
Avec beaucoup d’amour pour vous
с большой любовью к вам
với nhiều tình yêu cho bạn
あなたに多くの愛を込めて

Grannymar

PS. I wonder if these two ladies have found a gap in a hedge in the afterlife?

It was a glorious summers day.

The sun was high and so were my spirits.  It was the dawning of a new life.  I woke early and quietly set about pressing my outfit for the day.  The outfit was bought months earlier and spent the intervening time rolled in a ball and stuffed in a weekend case on top of the wardrobe!  Freshly pressed I hung it in readiness at the back of the bedroom door.

The household was at this stage coming to life so I made my way down to breakfast.  I met brother No. 2 on the stairs, he was on his way up with breakfast on a tray for my father. In the kitchen my mother was finished eating and ready to keep her appointment with the hairdresser.  My sister-in-law (sil) stood to pour me a coffee and offered to make some toast.  The chat was sparse and in hushed tones…. it almost had a funereal feeling about it.  You know, when people whisper in case they waken the corpse.

Once the dishes were washed the kitchen cleared my sil and I headed for town to have our hair done.  It  was soon time to return to the house where I applied my mother’s make-up, sorted my sil’s cut shins, calmed my father and dispatched Brother No.2 to collect Jack from where he was staying.

Brother No. 4 arrived and took my mother and sil to the church, leaving my father who was pacing the floor, and I in my semi dressed state to the silent house.  Brother No. 4 would lead mammy to her pew and then return to collect my father and I.  It was time to don the outfit.  As I moved to reach the hanger there was a knock on the bedroom door.  It was Brother No.1  He had dropped his wife off at the church (8 minutes away), spoken to Jack and came to have a quiet word with me.  He hugged me (the only one I had by that stage of the day) and he wished me all the happiness in the world in my new life.  He told me that Jack was waiting for me and he looked happy.  With another squeeze he was gone and I stepped into my outfit.

Descending the stairs, my father was still pacing the floor.  He turned and the words he offered were “Is that you ready now”?

Making sure I had no lipstick on my teeth.

Brother No 4 had the car turned and the doors open for us so off we went.  8 minutes and we were at the Church.  Brother No.1 was at the door to meet us.  Brother No.4 was with us.  Suddenly, my father who had poor health, said

“I cannot do it!”

I think the boys were half expecting this, so after five minutes discussing the various options my father said he would walk me up the aisle.  It must have looked like a real comedy piece with a brother walking up each side aisle, pace for pace with my father as he walked the nave with me.  The idea was that if he became unwell, one brother would take him out and the other would walk me up to Jack.

A few tense moments

I was passed over to Jack and as we turned to face my Uncle who was officiating, the Angelus Bell rang.  It was 12 noon.  My uncle smiled as he greeted us remarking aloud about us getting the time spot on.

Very soon the Marriage Service was over and we were on our way back down the aisle and on to the house for the party in the back garden.

Happy Ever After

We had a small wedding by choice - immediate family only - 24 in total turned out that day.  My mother wore the same colour as I did.  My sister wore white and five of the ladies, three of them sister in laws, wore pink!  So much for communication and consultation.

That was 32 years ago today.

I mentioned the day once before here.

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Marriage is certainly about more than fancy outfits, new hairdos, walking aisles and big parties….  There is of course the everyday living with the quirks and habits of those we marry to deal with.  Even today when I hear a man whistle it is a reminder of Jack and enough to pull me out of a daydream.

The following video is sad but I hope you will see the funny side too.  It is what makes life real.  I stole found it at Alice’s My Wintersong

This photo appeared on Conrad’s blog the other day.  The post was entitled It All Depends Upon How You Look At It… I tried to be polite with my comment… Well my mother did her best to make a lady out of me!

Had Conrad asked us to give our very first thought on seeing the photo, mine might have been ‘Extreme Constipation’!

The specimen roll of paper above appears to be embossed with hearts.  It was a reminder to me of how this particular product has changed over the years and the uses to which it is put.  Loo paper has almost a status these days.  First off we have one, two and three ply, plain or embossed. I have also come across it coated with Aloe Vera or Shea butter. We have certainly come a long way from cut sheets of newsprint threaded onto string and hung on a nail in an outside privy.

Then we have the more specialist varieties:

The one on the left looks a little rough & as for the one on the right…. well I’m saying nuttin!

I have heard about throwing money down the drain.. but this is taking it a bit far!

The roll above reminds me of a shop in Exchequer Street in Dublin during my childhood days.  The shop was almost opposite the Central Hotel, and I think it was called Waters.  It was an original version of a ‘£Pound’ Shop or ‘2€uro’ Shop as they are down South.  Nancy will tell us what they are called on the other side of the pond.  On fine days boxes and baskets of goods spilled out onto the street to entice the customers to come inside.  Special offers were written on the window in tennis shoe whitener.  The most popular offer (well they had it on all the time) was for seconds in loo paper!

I almost pushed my mother under a moving car one day trying to cross the road in case she decided to save a few bob on this item.  There was no way I would carry a bundle of them home on the bus.  My brothers swore that ’seconds’ meant that they were made from second hand paper that had been washed and re rolled, no matter how many times mammy said they were the end of a run on the rolling machine and unevenly wrapped or cut.

See I am not the only snob!

This final photo of an advertisement takes me back to the days before soft tissue.  The paper was smooth and shiny on the front and rough on the back, not what you would call absorbent.  It came on a roll or loose interleaved sheets in a box.  500 sheets on the roll for 1s/3d and for a box of 300 interleaved sheets it was 1shilling.

The interleaved sheets bring back another memory from 1959.

We, all eight of us were on holiday in England with my Aunt.  One of my Uncles wrote a letter to us with all his news.  The letter was addressed to all eight of us.  Each time someone was mentioned he drew a picture of that person with their name written on them.  I had a bow on my head and curly hair.  Mammy had an apron on and my brothers had long or short trousers according to their age.

He drew pictures instead of words whenever possible e.g. the ship was a picture of the boat, for the sea he drew waves and we also had the sun, clouds and the birds flying overhead.  It was all written on about six sheets of bronco special.  My uncle died over 40 years ago but the letter is still about.  I gave it to his eldest son a couple of years ago.  Somehow computer graphics will never be the same.

For those who are unaware of the Andrex Adverts:

The discussion had gone on for an hour, quietly, with both of us putting forward the reasons why the other should not be the one to do the job in hand.  The sun was shining and the day calm.  It wasn’t an argument - we didn’t argue, we discussed.

The lid was removed and paint stirred, the brushes ready and the ladder extended, I stood with my hand out for the splash cloth.  Slowly, very slowly Jack moved to relinquish it to me.  The handing over of that cloth to me was the acceptance that his days of climbing ladders were over.  Up until that point we shared in the decorating chores of the house, both inside and out.  Jack did the climbing and I looked after anything from waist to floor level.  We were a good partnership working in contented silence.  I was never afraid of hard work or climbing ladders.

Despite being a Burma vetern from WW11, Jack never let his injuries prevent him from trying anything.  He had re-learned to walk, drive, dance and climb ladders before I was born.  He took pride in everything he did and painting was no different.  In recent months I noticed that he was not lifting the injured leg without his foot catching and I didn’t want him falling from the ladder.

The task for the day was to paint under the eaves of the bungalow.  The front of the house was easy and possible to complete from a stepladder.  The back was a horse of a different colour.  The eaves were as high as a house and the gable end on one side was next door to heaven.  Up I went with all my gear.  I am fortunate in that I have long arms and can paint with either hand, with a wide span it made for fewer journeys up and down.

Jack pottered about the garden pretending to weed but ready to come to my aid if needed.  He insisted on helping to adjust the ladder with each change of level and making it secure before I began another upward journey.  By the time I was halfway through the task he began to relax.

Deep in concentration I suddenly noticed it had darkened.  I looked skyward expecting to see a cloud hiding the sun.  Aghhhhh!  There was no cloud to obscure the sunshine, I was looking at a massive swarm of bees!  They were hovering right above my head.  I froze!

Calling quietly to Jack I sent him to close every window in the house.  I decided to stay where I was and not move, afraid that if I did move the swarm would follow and land on me.  I have no idea how long I stood there, it seemed like hours but I am sure it was minutes.  The swarm lifted and moved nearer the apex, I was about to climb down but the bees quickly moved back down to their original position just above my head.  Again I froze.

Eventually they moved upward and over the chimney to the front of the house and off at an angle of 45°.

Returning to ground level with a great sigh of relief I went round to the front and saw the swarm land like a great big circular stain on the roof of one of the other bungalows.  I was fascinated as the stain became smaller as if drawn into the roof by suction.  The couple who owned the house were at work.  I kept a regular watch at intervals throughout the day and when the couple arrived home I went to tell them.

Later that night we were entertained as a gentleman in Apiarist protective clothing worked slowly and carefully to firstly smoke and then lift roof tiles to reach the swarm and remove them to a mobile hive.  They were not your commoner garden bees, but a particular type and he even knew where they had come from - Kells in Co Antrim.

If you are interested in the process of collecting a swarm have a look at this article

Rimsky Korsakov - The Flight of the Bumble Bee Played by James Galway on the flute Pianist-Phillip Moll James Galway’s recital in Belfast, Waterfront Hall

Sometimes I write a post and it ends right there!  No comment is added.

Thankfully that is not usually the case.  Most days the comments come rolling in with the conversation continuing throughout the day.  There are times where the banter goes forward and backward over a few days.  There is no telling what subject or topic will grab the attention of those who pause to read the mutterings here.

There are the regulars for whom a visit is as normal as daily breakfast, some catch up at a weekend, and there are the surprises - those who accidentally land here while searching for a topic, phrase or word.  It is something that always fascinates me.

One such post written over a year ago is a case in point.  The Radio was a journey back into my young life and the part the radio played during those far off times.  It stirred many memories and acted as a memory jog to other radio programmes down the years.  The chat lasted three days and then fell silent until a short revival in July, with another burst in October when Declan Hayden asked:

Does anyone know where I might track down the theme tune to Harbour Hotel, a radio programme on RTE Radio 1 in the 1970’s and finished about 1986 I think?

Alas nobody did and I suggested that Declan contact RTE. I have no idea if he did try that suggestion and since he left no URL I am unable to make contact.

Suddenly the post livened up again in December with several comments added to the discussion, again they were not Bloggers and I am not sure if the are lurking about still or have moved on to greener pastures.

Again silence.

Until yesterday!

When a fresh comment arrived..

SK (alas no URL) asked:

Declan
Did you manage to get the Harbour Hotel theme?
I have it if you want it

So Declan, if you are lurking please get in touch by leaving a comment either here or on the original post and I will try to pass your details to SK.  I normally only keep these details for a couple of days,

When I was a school girl I loved to baby sit for relations who had TV.  If I was lucky they had an aerial on the roof that gave them BBC and ITV signals from across the water in the UK.  Mind you these signals were only available on the east coast of Ireland.  So watching Emergency Ward 10, Coronation Street and other such programmes was a treat.  I was never really the biggest fan of television so the names of other programmes escape me.

I think that I grew up and lived in the last house in Ireland to buy a Television. My father held out as long as possible because he thought it might be a bad influence on us and interfere with our homework.  When we finally joined the hoards we had one station RTE.

The picture was black and white with more snow than a blizzard.  We had an indoor aerial that sat on top of the TV and was known as the ‘rabbits ears’ We had to move it about to improve the signal.  RTE imported American soaps by the bucket full back then. In very calm weather the signal from a Welsh station came floating in, so while we watched the Virginian on his horse traveling over the same section of the countryside umpteen times, the dulcet tones of a Welsh accent came wafting over the one speaker.  Stop laughing… we never heard of stereo!

Theme tune for the Virginian.

I have no recollection of when we moved to colour, but I do remember hearing my mother’s laughter reaching me at the kitchen table as I struggled with maths homework.  Curious to discover the reason I went into the other room to see this:

Greenacres

Mammy really loved that show, particularly when the phone rang!

My pocket began to vibrate.

It was an incoming call on the mobile/cell phone.  The time of day told me who it was without checking the screen.

“Hi Elly!” I said putting the instrument to my ear.

“Where are you?” she asked before adding “I tried the land-line and got no answer”.

If you wait long enough in life the answers come….

Several months earlier Elly had suggested that it would be a good idea for me to have a mobile phone.  Her reasoning was that I traveled about alone in my car, and should I have a breakdown or puncture in the wilds of nowhere, a phone would allow me to call for help.  I went along with the idea while wondering if that was a cover or the real reason behind the suggestion.  Now I had my answer…

“I’m not at home at the moment” I said into the mouth piece, while mouthing the word Elly to my companion.  He smiled, nodded and remained silent.

“So where are you?” Elly persisted.

“Right now, I am in Room six hundred and twenty whatever of the Europa Hotel in Belfast” I replied casually.

“O-kay!  After a pause she asked again “What are you doing there?”  This time it was a timid question.

“Well since you asked” I began, “I am watching a man put his trousers on!”

There was silence from the other end of the phone.  The man looked up at me and smiled a wicked smile.

“Are you still there?” I asked.

“Yes!” she began timidly, “Who is he?”  I was enjoying this!

“He is a very nice gentleman and he would like to speak to you”, I said before adding “Hold on while I give him the phone!”

Taking the phone the gentleman said “Hello Elly!”  Suddenly rather shocked, he looked at the phone and then to me he said “She hung up!”

“Nah!” I said.  “She has gone into a tunnel, she will phone again in a couple of minutes”.

Elly was at that time working in Glasgow.  Her homeward journey was by train and being confined to a small space for thirty minutes, she used it to call me.  There were two tunnels on the journey so I was quite used to the interruptions.  We were both on the same network so our calls were free.  She would call me and talk for up to 50 minutes and if needed I called her back for another 50 minutes.

The phone began to buzz once more…

“Hello!” I said again.

“W-H-O was that? she asked again.

It was time to come clean, I had my fun….

“Did you not recognise him?”  I asked.

“No!” she said.

“It is your Uncle D!” I admitted.

My brother had arrived with a group of colleagues for a three day conference.  When the first days meetings finished early he phoned me so I drove into Belfast to see him.  He had a couple of hours clear before going to a pre planned dinner engagement for the group.  We met in the bar for a drink and when the time came to wash and change for the evening he invited me up to the room.  While he showered, I sat on the bed and had a coffee.  Come on, give me a break, I grew up in a house with four brothers and was quite used to seeing them half dressed.

My brother got some milage out of the evening too.  I said we met in the bar of the hotel.  He was sitting with his colleagues when I arrived and I walked straight to him.  He stood and kissed me.  I saw his colleagues give that knowing smile.  He introduced me without saying I was family.  They seemed surprised that I knew so much about him.  When he invited me to the room the teasing really took off.  We played to the gallery and enjoyed it.  Later that evening he explained to them who I was.  I went to meet him again on the second evening and when I arrived i was greeted with a chorus of “Hello Sister”

That episode was a great learning curve for Elly.  It taught her that mammy might actually think of meeting a man for a drink or dinner.  Nowadays when I say something outrageous there is always a small chance that I might be telling the truth.

Well…. I have to have some fun!